Forgotten Childhood
by Crimson Cupcake
Summary: **Spoilers for Scorpia Rising** A series of oneshots centered around Alex Rider's carbon copy. Chapter four: Julius nodded, and remembered those words until the day he didn't heed them.
1. Forgotten Childhood

**A/N: MINOR SCORPIA RISING SPOILERS, BEWARE!**

Okay, now that we've established that, this is a fic dedicated to Julius Grief, also known as 'fake Alex' in Point Blanc. I really love Julius's character. He's twisted, and insane, but somewhere in there he just wants to be loved ^-^ (Okay, maybe that's just my interpretation of him. Hahaha.) And to kill Alex Rider, of course.

_Disclaimer: Neither Alex Rider nor Julius Grief belong to me. The teddy bear, however, possibly._

* * *

><p>A slim, pale hand crept up to his face, and gently, experimentally, pressed at the bandages. An ugly grimace crossed his face for the slightest moment. But then it was gone. The face was neutral again, as it should be.<p>

The face.

Not _his_ face. Because it wasn't his face anymore.

It was covered in white bandages wrapped firmly around his head, and hurt to even touch. The fair-haired boy could barely breathe through the material—most of the time it obscured his vision and made him want to rip the whole thing off, face and all. But then he had to remind himself. Everything would become his in time.

He just had to wait.

Julius Grief allowed another scowl to cross his face as he left his room. Waiting, waiting, that was all it ever was. He was so sick of it. When would the day come?

He headed down the corridor and turned left, entering the elevator. The private kitchens were only a floor below his room, and they stocked everything he loved. But of course, he was only going to eat what Alex Friend loved. The thought of acting like Friend utterly revolted Julius, but he would have to deal with it. After all, the world was going to be his.

He ordered a _sirop de grenadine_—a disgusting French drink, in his opinion, but it was a small sacrifice—and began walking back, walking in the same pace and style as Alex Friend. He had to practice, and practice never ended.

His leg came into contact with something, and Julius instinctively looked down, reaching into his pocket for a gun. But he needn't have worried. It was a small, brown, soft object: a toy bear for a child. What was it doing here?

Almost without thinking, Julius Grief picked it up and glared at it, as if the bear had single-handedly ruined his good mood. What was he supposed to do with this? Should he leave it and keep going? Or should he act like Friend and hand it in to lost property?

He examined the toy curiously. As a child, he had received toy rifles and swords. Then, as he got older, he had received real weapons. He had never had the opportunity to even _see_ a ... a ...

Teddy bear. That was what it was called.

Julius seemed to recall the name from a distant memory. Where had he heard the name before? He shook his head. It didn't matter where he had heard it. It was his now, if he chose to keep it.

But did he choose to keep it? The toy wasn't exactly brand new; the fur was matted with dirt, and two buttons were missing off the vest. The stuffing was threatening to burst at the seams. But Julius was curious. What did children do with these?

Did they kick them around? Did they use them as target practice? Did they stuff them with explosives then toss them as far away as they could?

But then he remembered.

There was that one time where he was watching that movie. There had been a child, and there had been a teddy bear. And the child was...

Experimentally, Julius mimicked what he had seen, holding the bear close to his body, tentatively pressing the toy to his chest. Nothing happened. Nothing exploded, or stabbed him, or tried to knock him out. It was really just an innocent plaything.

It felt good, Julius decided, to be hugging the bear. For a moment he could just forget about his responsibilities, and experience a childhood that had been taken away from him.

But then the moment passed, and Julius Grief had kicked the bear down the corridor, and laughed as he watched it fly through the air.


	2. Only Human

**A/N:** Due to my eagerness to write Julius, I have decided to expand this fic into a series of oneshots. Some may be long, some may be short, and will be updated when muse strikes. If you prefer me to update these as individual stories, tell me and I will do it ^-^

Once again, same warnings and disclaimers apply.

(This one might seem a little more vague. If it's too vague, or if you don't understand anything, feel free to ask me!)

_Edit 21/3/11: Thanks to _True Colours_ for pointing out some fail grammar mistakes._

* * *

><p>He stares at himself in the mirror for a whole minute. They told him that it would take a while to get used to it, but he didn't think he ever will.<p>

That shape of those eyes. The sharpness of the nose. His entire face shape has been changed by a simple few hours of operation and months of recuperation under bandages. He isn't himself anymore; he never will be.

He has to act like someone else now. He has to look and act and think like someone he has never met, someone he has never known, but someone he has watched for weeks. He has to imitate their every movement, imitate their speech patterns and little quirks and by the end of it all, Julius Grief knows that he could never do it.

He is too human. He is too himself.

But of course his father doesn't accept failure. His father doesn't accept anything less than perfection. So at 7 o'clock that evening, Julius walks out of his room, walks the way he has been practicing for the last days weeks, still with the bandages on his face from plastic surgery. He goes to meet his father in the dining room.

"How are you finding yourself adjusting?" asks Hugo Grief.

"Fine," says Julius, though he is lying. "I practiced walking the way he does it. I used the same shampoo and wore the same brand of clothes and ate the same thing he liked."

"There is nothing wrong, then?" There is a slight, menacing tone in his voice, as if the slightest thing wrong could completely derail their plans. But that is true, and Julius knows it.

Which is why he replies: "No, everything is fine."

"Are you sure? You seem distracted. Don't lie to me, Julius."

"I'm not lying," says Julius, but he isn't telling the truth either. "I'm not hungry, I'm going back to my room."

But what Hugo doesn't know is that, in the middle of the night, a boy who's face is wrapped in bandages sneaks out from his room and runs to the kitchens, and orders a feast fit for a king.

Months later, when Julius Grief re-examines himself in the mirror, with those brown eyes, fair hair, and hideous burn marks, he thinks back to those moment. And somehow, deep inside, he knows that the plan would never have worked.

He is only human.

He cannot live a lie.


	3. You can't shoot me

**A/N:** Sorry about this bad updating (and length of this chapter), I hit a wall xD But I do have some ideas left, and the ending to this fic is going to be awesome, if I do say so myself. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially to _Steff Malfoy1 _for ideas. Send your ideas in, people 8D

* * *

><p>Alex Rider lifted the hatch of the helicopter door, leaned outside, and grinned.<p>

That was what Julius Grief would have done, but that boy was dead. Dead with a bullet hole in his head, lying by the side of the street. And in the end, what was Julius but a boy with a childhood denied, living by the laws of a dead father.

But Hugo Grief was not dead, not really. His life, his spirit—heck, his _DNA—_lived inside that kid. But he was dead now.

Alex wondered why he cared. Julius had killed Jack. He was about to kill the secretary of state! And then he would come back to watch him die, and the last thing Alex could have seen was his own face, grinning like a madman, looming down on him before darkness enveloped everything.

Could have, would have, should have.

For a brief moment, Alex even desired that. Anything except this hollow feeling, this disgust towards himself.

And for the briefest moment, even as he mimicked his doppelganger, a tear slipped out of one eye, and dropped into the sand far below.


	4. Fire

**A/N:** Hello everyone! I'm back with a late update. Expect at least another two updates within the next two weeks, I plan to finish this fic before school starts again (in two weeks, for us)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially **Steff Malfoy1** and **Astrid-Elizabeth-Dare** who gave me awesome ideas ^^ This chapter is a suggestion from **Steff Malfoy1**! I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p>It was a remarkable sight to see sixteen boys lying on their stomachs, eyes screwed up in deep concentration, aiming their sniper guns at a red and white target. It would have been less remarkable if these boys did not move as one, think as one, look as one and act as one. In their eyes—and in the eyes of their father—they <em>were<em> one.

One and the same. They were all Hugo Grief, carbon copied sixteen times.

Sixteen shots ran out simultaneously, cracking the air like a whip of electricity. Fifteen bullets hit the bullseye of the target. The last bullet hit half an inch to the right.

"Adolf!" barked the man who was standing to the side, watching with cold, dark eyes. Even from his position on the opposite side of the field, he could tell that the bullet had missed its mark.

"I know you have joined us later than your brothers," Hugo Grief said icily, "but that does not mean you will be exempt from punishment. I expect you to be at whatever level everyone else is, even if it means more training in your spare time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, father," said Adolf Grief.

Hugo strode over to his son and, raising his cane, brought it down three times onto his back. Adolf winced, but bit his tongue and made no sound.

"Again!" Hugo shouted. He walked back to his place on the sidelines, watching as another sixteen bullets shot out from the guns. This time, all sixteen hit their mark. They all reloaded simultaneously, aimed at the same time, and all their hands pressed the trigger with the same motion. Except one.

One of the boys had missed the invisible cue, had fired it a millisecond after all his brothers. Hugo noticed, and scowled.

"You fired late, Julius."

Julius Grief looked up at his father and bit his lip. "I'm sorry, father. I was distracted."

"I do not _want_ you to be distracted!" Hugo snapped. "In an assassination, distraction means failure. Fire at the time you planned, no matter what happens. If someone shouts, fire anyway. If someone enters the room, fire anyway. If someone points a gun at your head, _fire_ _the damn bullet_!"

Julius nodded, and remembered those words until the day he didn't heed them.

He received three strokes of the cane, gasping in pain but refusing to make another sound. He and his brothers reloaded once more, and fired, and this time they were perfect. Like they should be.

-xox-

"We all know which country I'm referring to..."

_Britain! Say the word, woman! Say it!_

There were no distractions this time. He was completely focused, his body filled with adrenaline, his fingers shaking as he waited for that fateful word.

Then someone shouted, and entered the room, and pointed a gun at his head.

Everything he had ever learnt was thrown out the window at the most crucial time. Julius swung around. He fired, missed, reloaded, and then aimed once more, ready to kill the person who had ruined his life.

_I'm sorry, father. Revenge is too sweet._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **If anyone has any ideas, feel free to shoot them in a review ^^


End file.
